


The Observer Effect

by Eireann



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen, Science Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23232550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eireann/pseuds/Eireann
Summary: The episode from the Organians' point of view.Warning: potentially sensitive material in light of the current Coronavirus epidemic.  If you are affected or likely to be offended, please do not read it.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17
Collections: Reed's Armory Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Star Trek and all its intellectual property belongs to CBS/Paramount. No infringement intended, no money made

* * *

Another ship has arrived at the experimental area.

We have gone through this so often now that the procedure is well established. The scientific community are interested, but not excited.

We grew out of being excited many thousands of years ago. There is nothing new, under the stars.

I am tasked with observing on this occasion. I accept the duty with something close to resignation – after all, it is only a matter of recording the time scales, rationale and casualty numbers. Events will play out as they always do; it is simply a case of watching them unfold. The data we bring back will be shared and discussed and added to our sum of the knowledge of other species, and we will dismiss this encounter as we have dismissed all the others, as simply a minor tragedy to a minor handful of a minor product of evolution.

It is customary for observers to perform the task in pairs. Today, I am surprised and slightly put out to find that I will have a new Companion.

I suppose that it is inevitable that sooner or later someone new should wish to take on the role. I will simply have to teach him how to behave himself, and how to regard the subjects of our biohazard experiment as simply objects for our study. It is surprisingly easy at first to slip into the trap of regarding these creatures as being of importance to anyone – even, ridiculously, to ourselves! – and to become far too personally involved with their small struggles with the inevitable. And when I encounter my new Companion, I realise almost at once that he will be particularly liable to this weakness. He is full of curiosity and eager to learn – I cannot fault him there – but has a fatal tendency to impulsiveness. Moreover, I detect an endearing but unhelpful inclination to kindness in his nature. It will be hard for him to learn the appropriate detachment necessary for clinical observation. Still, he must be aware of what will be involved, and I will be perfectly able to rein in any attempts to become emotionally involved in the proceedings.

Impulsive and kind. Tch. I do not know what Observers are coming to these centuries.

These new subjects are, of course, explorers. And the world that is the bait in our trap is tempting to all carbon-based species. They will not find out, until far too late of course (if they ever do), that it contains a highly contagious silicone-based virus that – at their level of development – will be completely incurable.

This, of course, will produce the developments that we are here to observe and document.

It is child’s play for a species as advanced as ours to obtain the necessary information about our new subjects. Humans, from Planet Earth. Not a very interesting species in itself, in physical or intellectual terms, nor is their technology particularly remarkable. But we are nothing if not equal-handed in observing whatever wanders into our laboratory, and so by the time the members of the inevitable landing party return to their craft, at least one of them will already be infected. From that point onwards, all that will be notable are the variations on a very ancient theme.

_How many will die._

In order to interact seamlessly with the actors in the imminent tragedy, my Companion and I will have to take over the consciousness of two of the Humans themselves – preferably two who can have easy access to all parts of the ship likely to be involved. They too may eventually become victims of the virus (depending on the degree of ruthlessness with which its carriers are eliminated, and the virus with them), but we would of course detach ourselves long before that happened. It would be both unpleasant and unnecessary to experience the suffering involved first-hand, and could add little if anything to our understanding of the processes involved; it will be demeaning enough to have to subject ourselves to the sensory input of physical bodies which are fit and healthy, without having to endure their dying agonies as well.

Experience has shown us that merging is most easily done with intellects that (at however remote a remove) are similar in nature to our own. My Companion and I spend a short while drifting around the ship investigating the subjects and learning the location of the sites where the sequence of activity will play out. Various possibilities present themselves as hosts, but the best place to be aware of the events going forward on board ship is the command centre, the ‘Bridge’ as they call it. When the infected personnel notify their commanding officer of their plight, this is where the call will come in; and so here is the best place to seek for our obliging if completely unconscious hosts.

There are not as many Humans on the Bridge as I might have hoped. Though I am briefly interested by the presence of a non-Human (a Vulcan, it seems, a species that has not yet fallen into our trap but may be an interesting study if they do), this investigation is to determine what _Human_ reactions will be. It may be rather a pity if the results are contaminated in any way by the Vulcan’s advice on the situation, but we will simply have to factor that in when compiling our final reports. We cannot eliminate her presence without advertising our own, and so we will have to make the best of things. (The same applies to the Denobulan on board; his position as Chief Medical Officer is singularly unfortunate, but he will be unable to find a cure, so it is to be hoped that his influence over the containment of a potential catastrophe will be relatively minor.)

Needless to say, the Captain is sacrosanct. It is his decisions that will chiefly drive events and, eventually, determine the number of casualties. So our hosts must be selected from among the officers present, and the fates are with us, for there are two who fit our requirements perfectly. Not only will they be in a position to observe – or, more accurately, to facilitate _our_ observation – but their roles preclude them having any part to play in the unfolding medical emergency. They can maintain the charade of being innocent and legitimately concerned bystanders and, as long as we deploy them with the appropriate care to avoid arousing suspicion of any kind, they will be able to ask any questions we deem necessary.

Our infiltration of them is cautious and slow. We have to find out how susceptible they are – if they become aware of our presence, they may alert the others and then the game would be up. We have to accustom ourselves to the distressing and distracting sensations of not only their actions but their thought processes and the incessant physical stimuli that to them are simply the tenor of their existence. We have to experience them vocalising (what a crude and ineffective means of communicating it is!) and determine not only their places in the ship’s hierarchy but also their relationship with each other. If they were social unequals or regarded each other with dislike, to have them interacting with one other socially would attract notice. Unfortunately, however, when we Organians are absorbed into physical creatures we become restricted to their own crude methods of communication, and therefore in order to plan our strategy and then carry out our observations we need hosts who socialise with each other naturally and as a matter of course.

Initial signals suggest that these two subjects have feelings of tolerance and respect for one another. They occupy different positions in the hierarchy, but they are comfortable in the relationship. I am, of course, alert for any suggestion that they might be physically attracted to each other; in one way a sexual relationship would be to our advantage, for the subjects would naturally seek each other out, but after having to endure one investigation where I had to bear not merely the usual basic functions of a physical body but the outrage of a completely irrelevant and intrusive act that I still struggle to compartmentalise appropriately, I am reluctant in the extreme to run the risk of it a second time.

Fortunately, this will not be an issue this time. Although my chosen subject is not specifically heterosexual, his interest in the other male’s body is tenuous. It would seem destined to remain so, for my Companion reports that his subject is purely heterosexual and unlikely in the extreme to respond positively to any approach of that kind from his superior. I note that my Companion seems more disappointed than relieved by this discovery, and think to myself darkly that he has no idea how lucky he actually is; the total loss of dignity and sheer ... sheer _messiness_ of the whole concept of sexuality was one of the chief drivers of our species’ determination to rid themselves of physical existence, and I myself have never ceased to be thankful for its success.

The two men, are, however, ‘friends’. Off-duty, they often amuse themselves by meeting to play a game they call ‘Chess’. As the Companion and I continue our stealthy invasion, we discover that arrangements for a game this evening have already been made. What could possibly be more fortuitous?

Most importantly of all, our task is made infinitely easier if the minds we select to occupy have similar attitudes to our own. We can mould characteristics already there far more easily than do violence by forcing a subject (I very nearly said ‘person’, the Companion’s naïveté is almost as contagious as our virus!) to behave in a way completely foreign to their nature. And once again, events play into what would be our hands if we actually had any.

The Companion’s subject is young, cheerful, gregarious and – in some ways – innocent, though not necessarily unwise. They could hardly be better suited.

My subject, on the other hand, is slightly older, cynical, naturally reserved and intensely wary of contact – Human or otherwise. I doubt whether his young ‘friend’ really has any idea of the secrets in the hard core I uncover, or whether he would be nearly so comfortable in his company if he had. But he has ample experience of performing unpleasant duties without compunction, and I am perfectly happy to tap into that vein of ruthlessness; it will serve me perfectly to keep so much of a tremor of distress from surfacing when he witnesses the suffering and death of subjects for whom he possibly feels regard or even possibly some primitive form of affection.

Satisfied, I slide into his consciousness so smoothly that his wary examination for alien presences on the new planet’s surface is not even interrupted – I am far too accomplished at the process for him to have even the faintest realisation that the alien presences may be far, far closer to him than he anticipates. For now, I will simply sit and observe. Later, during the game of ‘Chess’, my Companion and I will discuss the imminent experiment. We may compare minor observations on our hosts that may be of passing interest to those who will be studying the minutiae of our reports, but it seems the landing is not scheduled to take place until the planet’s rotation brings the chosen area into good daylight. The ship is locked into geostationary orbit, which will conveniently allow the crew to undergo their functional unconsciousness period preparatory to the ‘excitement’ of the following day.

My Companion has not experienced this strange phenomenon. He is both intrigued and nervous about it, but in a few hundred years’ time he will regard it as I do, as merely the necessary evil that it is. Much like the other repellent activities that will also take place before then, all things that the Humans’ insensate resignation to their physical slavery must have long accustomed them to. Before the chess game, for instance, it is inevitable that our hosts will eat – another experience that will be a novelty to my unfortunate Companion. Considering our hosts’ bodies are well toned, they may also require physical exercise; possibly strenuous, to compensate for sitting immobile for hours at a time on duty. After that, doubtless the demands of ‘hygiene’ will demand that they clean themselves (I pass over with a shudder what other demands ‘hygiene’ will make). Only after that will the anticipated chess game take place.

I have spent a great deal of time and effort instilling into my Companion how he must behave. Regardless of the strangeness and wonder of all the extraordinary and sometimes overwhelming effect of physical stimuli, he must maintain his discipline. And I must admit that as hard as I watch, the young helmsman shows no outward sign at all as his host merges with him.

“Still okay for the game tonight, Lieutenant?” he asks jokingly. “I swear, this time I’ll beat you! I feel tonight’s my lucky night!”

My host raises his eyebrows, but before he can respond, the young female directly opposite him laughs so hard it sets her neat ponytail swinging. “Travis, you’ve said that every night since you started playing him!”

“Oh, I don’t mind, Ensign. There’s a first time for everything, after all.” I keep my voice level, but Travis’s bright glance in my direction says he gets the message. He’s eager for his first time, just as I was eight hundred years ago.

And it’s the same scenario as it always is; the trap is baited and set, and tomorrow morning it will snap shut on another set of victims. Nothing changes. Nothing ever changes.

Except for _how many will die._


	2. Chapter 2

_“I have a medical emergency. Commander Tucker’s collapsed.”_

The atmosphere on the ‘Bridge’ has been quiet up till now. I’ve been staying quite still and silent, letting my helmsman host do what he usually does, but at those words through the communications link his heartbeat suddenly gets faster.

It’s a really strange feeling. I experienced it last night, of course, when he was in the ‘gymnasium’, but though the physical effect was the same, the rush of emotions that come with it are completely different. I don’t have any words to describe it, all the things that happen to his body. I know that it’s all set off by a hormone called ‘adrenaline’ but never having actually _experienced_ an adrenaline rush it’s quite simply overwhelming. It took me hours last night to submit to the Humans’ period of unconsciousness; I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be _like_ not to know anything for a period of time. That was on top of ‘eating’ and ‘exercising’ and ‘showering’ and ‘using the toilet’, which were all astonishing things to experience when you’ve never done them before. Though I have to admit the chess was a bit of a let-down, and lessened the respect I’d started to feel for these Humans who cope with all this sensory input without even thinking about it; a game with only 10123 outcomes is pretty limited, especially as they won’t even live long enough to play them all.

I’ll admit it, I’m pretty nervous. With it being my first time, and all. Especially with such an experienced Senior Observer – I don’t want to mess up. But it’s so _fascinating_ , being linked to an alien like this. ‘Travis’, my host, doesn’t even feel so much unlike me. He’s happy to be here, he’s hoping to learn things, he’s proud to be with the people he works with. As stupid as it sounds, if he was a real person he’d be the sort I’d want to have for a friend.

I catch myself thinking that, and scold myself. It’s exactly what the Senior Observer warned me about: getting involved.

My host doesn’t move, but he listens hard.

“Can you bring the shuttlepod in?” The captain’s beside his Vulcan science officer’s station. His voice has suddenly gotten tense.

_“Yes, sir. At least, in simulations.”_

I’m already getting familiar with the Humans’ vocal tones; I can hear the fear in her voice, but it’s being held on a tight rein of determination.

“Slow and steady, Ensign. I’ll see you in Decon.”

 _“Understood.”_ She cuts the connection, probably to concentrate on flying, and the captain orders T’Pol to call Phlox – that’s the Denobulan doctor.

Travis’s pulse is still thumping, but now it’s with more than just his anxiety. As I slip a look across to the Senior Observer, who slides a knowing glance at me in return, with just a tiny hint of a secret smile tugging at his mouth, I think to myself, _It’s starting._

=/\=

It’s apparently an accepted part of the routine for the tactical officer and the helmsman to go do work elsewhere in the ship when we’re on duty, because nobody seems even slightly surprised when the Senior Observer beckons a junior up to take his place and another comes to take mine. I let ‘Travis’ do the handover – he knows what he’s talking about, after all – and then when the two of us are in the turbo-lift I step into control. It’s easier than I expected; now I know what the Humans’ unconsciousness/sleep feels like, I just manipulate the brain waves and that’s it: I’m in charge.

The Senior Observer nods approvingly.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” I say, with a gesture to take in the whole experience of being _in_ somewhere, of being _contained_ by something.

“It’s different,” he agrees briskly, “but you’ll get used to it. What we have to concentrate on is the subjects, remember. It’ll be easy for you to get carried away, but we’ve already discussed that. If you have any problems, or there’s anything you don’t see the point of, just speak out.”

I’m so grateful for his understanding.

We reach the level down from the Bridge and step out into the corridor – we have to take a separate turbo-lift down to the level where the action will be taking place. I’m nervous enough to want to talk, so I remark that I’ve studied his report on how the Klingons reacted to the infection. I’ve studied quite a few of the recent encounters, but I feel as if I’d like to get more of a handle on his understanding of what happened.

He shrugs a bit dismissively. “Their response was typical for a species at their level of development.”

He’s right of course, but the level of development is about the same for the Humans, and they haven’t reacted the same way at all. So I press a bit. “The Klingon commander didn’t let his landing party back on his ship.”

“Your point?”

Well, isn’t it obvious? “Captain Archer did.”

He pauses, and explains it patiently. “Captain Archer’s done nothing different from the Klingons. The launch bay and Decon Chamber are completely isolated from the rest of the ship.”

I still don’t feel completely satisfied, but I don’t want to seem disrespectful by arguing the point. “So it doesn’t matter if an infected landing party comes aboard.” I guess we can agree on that.

Another faint shrug; he sounds a bit bored already. “Precisely. Humans don’t want to interact with dying crew mates any more than Klingons did. 

“If it was left to me, I’d stop our observations immediately. We have nothing more to learn from Humans.”

Well. I’m a new kid, and to me it’s all different and strange and exciting, but he’s been doing this for centuries and he’s seen it all so many times I guess he _is_ bored. Still, he said he wants me to speak up, so as soon as I’m sure we can talk without being overheard I do just that.

“Oh, I don’t know. They’re showing concern for each other. The Cardassians did that when they were here, didn’t they?”

He grins a bit sardonically. “Ah, but in the end they killed their infected crew, just as the Klingons did. The only difference is the time it took to reach that decision.”

He’s right, of course, though I can’t help feeling disappointed. I’d really like, just for once, for something _different_ to happen, something _exciting._ And though I’d never admit it, I’m getting a soft spot for my host – he feels like a friendly sort of being. I’ll be a bit sorry if this is one of the times when the whole crew dies.

“Maybe the humans will surprise us,” I suggest, more in wishful thinking than actual belief.

It’s not surprising that he scoffs. “I’ve been observing aliens for eight hundred years. I’ve yet to be surprised. Still, we should follow protocol.

“Start questioning the infected crew. I’ll check in with the Doctor.”

=/\=

I’m just getting to grips with what Humans look like in their ordinary state, so I’m a bit nervous when I step up to the window of the Decon Chamber.

The Humans inside don’t look like the others I’ve seen. They’re pale and their skins are sweating. They’re obviously uncomfortable, which is apparently one of the side effects of the virus, though of course I don’t really understand what it actually means.

I clear my throat a bit and tap the window. “Commander, Hoshi. Just wanted to say hi.”

The male must be the commander. He glances at me. “We’re a little busy right now, Travis.”

I can’t see what they’re busy doing. There’s nothing to do in there, just be ill and get worse.

“Can you tell me what’s in the hypospray?” I ask. It’s all information that will feed into our knowledge of their ‘civilisation’, though I doubt if the Senior Observer would describe it as that. Primarily, though, I need to get them talking to me.

“Something for our symptoms,” says the female shortly, peering round the bulkhead at me. I’d have thought she could be more forthcoming.

“Yeah, Phlox doesn’t know what’s wrong with us yet,” adds the commander, sounding tired. I know what ‘tired’ is now: the feeling a body gets before it goes unconscious at night.

Still, I have to persevere; the Senior Observer will expect me to have found out _something_ useful. “Have either of you faced serious illness before?”

The commander stops and looks at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”

Well, I _am_ on duty – just not exactly the sort of duty he’s thinking of. I’m sure he’ll be helpful if I ask the right questions. “I was curious to know how you’d compare this experience with other illnesses you might’ve contracted.”

That’s obviously not one of the right questions. “Travis, we really need to get some sleep.”

He can’t go to sleep yet – he might die before I get any information! “I only have a few more questions,” I plead.

“Thanks for stoppin’ by.” With an obstinate look, he walks to the observation hatch and shuts the privacy screen, ignoring my despairing “But–!”

That didn’t go _nearly_ as well as I’d hoped.

=/\=

Still, as it turns out, the Senior Observer didn’t fare too well with the Denobulan doctor either. Apart from getting a hypospray for a non-existent headache, he actually didn’t get anything of value at all, which I can tell didn’t go down very well.

Our hosts’ bodies are ‘hungry’. This is such a disagreeable feeling that even the Senior Observer admits that we have to eat, and so we convene a planning meeting in the Mess Hall, combining business with necessity. Though it has to be said, if only to myself, that I don’t see what’s all that unpleasant about the taste of food. I’m quite getting to enjoy it, especially the soup.

We’ve done a little eavesdropping while we’re allowing our hosts to resume their normal duties for a while, still completely oblivious to our presence. We’ve discovered that the doctor has been busy in the meantime.

“The doctor identified the pathogen.” I can’t help sounding a little bit smug. These Humans aren’t as stupid as the Senior Observer thought they were, and that feels like a bit of a victory to me, even though it’s obviously not going to make any significant difference to the outcome.

He’s obviously still a bit irked. “That happens thirty-seven percent of the time,” he sniffs.

“But no-one’s made the decision to abandon the infected crew members,” I point out triumphantly. These Humans _are_ different!

He scowls at my misguided optimism. “Then this’ll likely be one of the times when everyone dies,” he says flatly.

Damn.

He really _has_ seen all of this before.

=/\=

I think Travis is an optimist, just like me. Though I’m getting the feeling the Senior Observer thinks some of the host is rubbing off on me, and not in a good way, because when we leave the Mess Hall we’re still arguing.

“We’re looking for signs of elevated intelligence in the species we observe!”

Travis knows – and therefore I know – that the lieutenant has a habit of talking down his nose when he’s getting irritated. He’s doing it now, so maybe his host is rubbing off on the Senior Observer too. “ _Rational_ intelligence, yes. Which Archer has not demonstrated. The longer the infected crew remain on board, the greater the risk that quarantine will fail.”

“I’m sure Captain Archer knows exactly what the risk is. Maybe it’s not as important to him as standing by his crew.”

“It’s just as probable that he hasn’t realised how hopeless the situation is.”

This was undoubtedly meant to squash me. I won’t let it. I _like_ these Humans, and I want to stick up for them. For a while, anyway.

“There’s a way to be sure,” I suggest.

He stops, pulling me back to a slightly more private area of the corridor, and looks at me. “We chose the Helmsman and the Armoury Officer for good reason. ‘They’re both stationed on the Bridge, yet neither plays a critical role in a medical emergency’.”

“Which is why we should inhabit the doctor and the science officer,” I say eagerly. “Archer relies on their findings to make his decisions. We could witness that as it happens!”

He frowns, unconvinced. “The more people we inhabit, the greater the chance that we will inadvertently interfere.”

“The more people we inhabit, the more we’ll be able to observe!”

I still don’t think he’s really buying it, but we seem to have reached our limit for the time being at the amount our present hosts can contribute to our research. So with a wry shrug of acquiescence, he releases control.

Our hosts have no idea why they are where they are, but their brains link seamlessly to previous events that are close enough to provide an explanation. _That_ was what they must have been doing. The alternative is too awful to imagine, and so it’s locked away; and they resume their journey, each thinking he’s the only one who can’t quite remember what they were talking about.


	3. Chapter 3

I know from past experience how unrewarding it can be trying to extract information from dying subjects. So the lack of response from the inhabitants of the Decon Chamber is exasperating, but not exactly surprising.

Even more exasperating, and considerably more surprising, is my Companion’s apparent admiration for these creatures. I honestly wonder whether he’s understood anything about these experiments at all.

We’re supposed to be _studying_ them. Not _admiring_ them!

“They’re very brave, the way they’re facing death,” remarks his Denobulan host, on a slightly belligerent note.

I preserve my patience. “Their courage isn’t in question. Their intelligence _is_.”

He looks at me challengingly. I’ll permit it, if only because I can remember that this first foray into another being’s body and psyche is disturbing, and it takes quite a few experiences of it before it leaves one completely unmoved, as I am now. Unfortunately the female body in which I’ve unwisely taken up residence – I must be more disturbed than I care to admit – has aspects that bring back certain of those highly unpleasant memories I’ve tried hard to suppress. It’s not helping the situation one little bit.

“You _want_ the Humans to fail!” he almost accuses me.

“This isn’t a competition,” I reply crushingly. “Either a species’ intelligence is developed enough for First Contact, or it isn’t.”

“Then perhaps we should consider other qualities in making our decision,” he shoots back.

Really! If he persists in becoming so emotionally involved, I may have to reconsider his future as an Observer. We’re supposed to be impartial. What will become of the experiment, if we can’t simply stay detached from what we’re observing?

So I produce the inarguable response. “This is the measure we have used for ten thousand years. It’s not our responsibility to change it.”

He eyes me smoulderingly before increasing his pace. “Then whose responsibility is it?”  
  


=/\=

There having been developments in Sickbay with which we shouldn’t interfere, the Companion and I return to our hosts on the Bridge, where they’re involved in discussions with the captain. This is an important part of the study and I don’t want to miss it.

“I’ve heard from Starfleet,” Archer continues. “They’re working through diplomatic channels to contact the Klingons, but it might not be necessary. This spectrograph identifies a Klingon alloy.”

“That’s the signature of standard hull plating,” my host observes, looking at the situation table with the information laid out on it. Deftly I’m allowing just enough of his consciousness to function to allow him to think he’s actually awake, aware and in control of the situation.

“I found it here.” The captain brings up a new display and points.

“You’ve detected a debris cloud in orbit.” My Companion states the blindingly obvious.

“It’s what’s left of a Klingon shuttlecraft.” Strangely, the captain looks actually pained. “Their response to an infected landing party. The Commander killed his own shuttle crew.”

I remember the occasion perfectly. The only virtue of it all was that it was brief; no discussion, no tiresome agonising, not even any significant search for a cure. ‘They’re infected? We don’t know how to cure them? They could infect the ship?

‘Fire.’

Beautifully simple and practical. If I’d have been writing actual notes, it would hardly have occupied half a page.

“They didn’t even plead for mercy,” I muse. Then, catching my error, I have to scramble to recover it. “I mean, they wouldn’t, would they? Being Klingon.”

My Companion’s attempt to deflect any potential interest in my mis-step is almost as embarrassing as the gaffe itself. “Captain, does knowing what the Klingons did help us at all?”

Archer nods grimly. “At least we know we don’t have to bother asking them if they have a cure.”

“But if they developed one, you’d ask them for it, right?”

“On bended knee.”

I’ve decided there’s one Human expression I dislike most of all.

The look that says ‘I told you so’.

=/\=

There being nothing further to be observed for the present, we allow our hosts to carry on with their normal duties for a while. 

Although nothing much is expected to happen by the Humans, I’m not altogether surprised when something does. My host registers an alert on the board in front of him that says there’s a quarantine breach on D deck. The Decon Chamber has been unsealed. Immediately he informs the captain.

“Someone's overriding the safety interlocks,” he continues.

“Shut down all power to D deck,” the captain orders. “I want those doors sealed.”

I comply immediately. After all, that’s what the lieutenant is there for: to obey his captain’s orders. 

The Companion and I exchange glances. It’s always interesting when something happens that the subjects don’t predict. It won’t influence the ultimate outcome, of course, but it all adds to the enter– er, to the sum of our understanding of the species. And then we both settle back to watch for the next developments.

But I’m not so much surprised as dismayed when presently the helmsman stands up and comes over to the Tactical Station as though having some important information to impart.

“We can stop what this virus is doing to them,” he murmurs.

I keep my eyes on the readouts. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“We came to observe their response to the unexpected, not to watch them suffer.”

I suppress a sigh. Suffering _is_ a response to the unexpected in this situation – at least, if the subjects have any form of empathy or concern for the infected victims. Admittedly the Klingons were admirably practical about it, but most of the subjects I’ve seen have experienced at least some minor qualms about the necessity of cold-bloodedly killing the carriers. Those whose qualms have been stronger than their practicality were those who died with their crew, sacrificed to their own refusal to accept the inevitable.

The Companion should know this already. I can’t believe I’m going to have to explain it all to him again!

“This is not the place to be having this discussion,” I say levelly.

“I know where we can talk undisturbed.”

=/\=

The Decon chamber is obviously the most private place on the ship right now. That doesn’t mean that it’s agreeable or comfortable, and as soon as we transport into the bodies there it becomes apparent that there are other disadvantages too.

The Companion has transferred into the male. As the commander’s eyes open, an expression of dismayed disgust comes into his face. “The sensations in this host are different from the others. I’m experiencing physical pain!”

“So am I.” I’ve felt it occasionally before and it’s not at all pleasant, and I’m not happy to be experiencing it again. _And_ I’ve transferred into the female, which doesn’t improve my mood particularly.

“Why should any species have to endure this weakness?” he protests.

I can’t believe it isn’t obvious to him. “Because the desire to overcome it will spur them to move beyond the limitations of the physical world.” Why would _anyone_ want to put up with these disgusting physical forms and their endless limitations and requirements? And as for that – that ‘sex’ business, any being with any sense of their own self-worth who’d actually want to continue being subjected to _that_ would be simply incontrovertible proof that they were hardly sentient, let alone intelligent. Tyranny, that’s what it is. Pure tyranny.

Being a non-corporeal being, I forget how irritating expressions can be. I have a very irritating one facing me now: stubbornness.

“Maybe that isn’t true for all species.”

“It was true for us,” I say tartly. What more proof could be required of its eminent sense and suitability? “Our ancestors were physical beings.”

“Well, what worked for us might not work for everyone. Humans have different qualities.”

His inexperience is so obvious. It’s not his fault this is his first time. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“What do you have against this species?” he demands.

‘Against’ them? Does he think I actually _care_ about them that much?

Still, in fairness, even as I open my mouth to deny it, I have to pause. Like it or not, they do bother me. Obviously all physical beings are very inferior to us, but some are more troublesome to interact with than others; and the insight I’ve had into my primary host has revealed the depths of savagery to which these creatures are capable of sinking. He may be the image of disciplined respectability now, but that’s a long way from what he was previously. An _extremely_ long way.

“What disturbs me most about the Humans is their capacity for violence,” I admit at last, reluctantly.

He blinks. Possibly my report was more revealing than I intended it to be about how distasteful I found the Klingons’ unthinking aggression, however, because he says carefully, “Klingons embrace violence. The Humans try to avoid it.”

He hasn’t melded with my host. He doesn’t have access to the memories of murder. However much the lieutenant may regret his past behaviour, he can’t undo it; he lives with it, hidden in the darkness inside his shields. “Humans _say_ they avoid it, but their words don’t match–”

My current host has exceptional hearing. There must be some involuntary sound through the comm. link, because I know that someone is aware of us talking. “We’re being observed.”


	4. Chapter 4

We’ve jumped again, this time back into the captain’s and science officer’s minds, because they have authority over the Denobulan and can help to contain the situation, which is threatening to go disastrously wrong.

We’re only just in time. Even as we walk into Sickbay, the doctor is coming out in search of us, carrying a PADD on which he’s recorded brainwave readings that are dismayingly unlike those we’ve seen on the monitors above biobeds containing sick Humans.

“What is the significance?” I ask, hoping desperately he hasn’t realised.

“The patterns aren’t human,” he answers promptly. I can see him groping towards an answer we don’t want him to find, because if he does we’ll have to intervene – something we’re not supposed to do at all if it can be helped.

The Senior Observer looks at me. “Did you know they had this capability?” he asks. Clearly he’s given up hope of containing the situation and is now resigned to having to intervene whether we like it or not. He’s not even pretending to be the Science Officer any more.

I didn’t see any sign of it in my initial assessment. “He must have used Denobulan technology.”

Denobulans are obviously quick on the uptake. Phlox’s blue eyes are sparking with anger as he looks from one of us to the other. “I see. Are you responsible for what happened to my patients?”

“We had nothing to do with it.” I’m relieved to be able to disclaim responsibility – it’s absolutely true that we had nothing at all to do with the creation of the virus – but it still doesn’t feel like enough. Not nearly enough.

“We come here only to study how physical species react to the unknown,” explains the Senior Observer, sounding almost bored again. “You can help by telling us how you detected our presence. That only happens in less than two per cent of our missions.”

The doctor glares. “Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato were sedated. They shouldn’t have been able to stand and talk.”

“It’s been so long since we had physical form, we weren’t able to distinguish sleep from sedation,” I explain contritely.

“We’ll remember next time.” There’ll be a note made of it in the report, and next time and the time after that and the time after that nobody will make the mistake and people will go on dying like they have for the last how-many-thousand years and it will still be not in the least exciting.

“Is there anything you can do to help my patients?” demands Phlox.

The Senior Observer glances negligently at the PADD. That too will have to be erased before we leave, in case it provides any inconvenient clues to the information we’ll have suppressed by then. “We’re here to observe. We can’t interfere.”

“You’re interfering with me!”

“Our subjects are Human. You’re Denobulan. You were inhabited a few hours ago. An intriguing experience.”

“I have no recollection of that.”

“Memories are easy to adjust.” I try to sound reassuring – it doesn’t hurt, it’s really simple and harmless – but I end up sounding more apologetic than anything, at least to my own ears.

“You’re going to adjust mine again? So I won’t remember a word of this encounter.”

“Or what you observed in the Decon Chamber,” adds the Senior Observer coolly.

He knows what’s coming, but he still protests. “If you have that ability, you must be able to help my patients!”

“We could.” Oh, how I wish we would!

“But we won’t.” The statement is flat, denying any possibility of hope. “Thank you for your help, Doctor.”

Phlox’s glare of disgust at us as we close in on him is horrifying; I know what we have to do, but I can’t ever remember feeling so conflicted, so ashamed. “No wonder you erase memories. Your behaviour is appalling!”

In a way, though, it’s a relief when it’s done. We leave him preoccupied with his results, and he doesn’t even look up as we quietly leave the room.

“According to what I read on the doctor’s medical PADD, he’s learned how to stop the infection.” I force the words through a throat that surely shouldn’t be this dry.

“I’ve seen seven other species develop the radiation cure,” says the Senior Observer rather curtly. “But never in time.”

“Did we make contact with any of them?” If just once it did any good, if just once there was a _point..._

I suppose I should be expecting the reply.

“Of course not. Expending resources to attempt an impossible task is not a sign of intelligence.” The Vulcan face looks up at me darkly. “The captain and science officer have decisions to make. We need to return to our original hosts.”

=/\=

You have to give the Humans points for persistence – well, I do, but I suspect the Senior Observer is just chalking up more scores for refusing to recognise reality when it stares them in the face.

The reality, of course, is that Tucker and Sato are dying, but the captain won’t accept it.

He’s now come up with the idea that the doctor may be able to save them if they can be moved from the Decon Chamber to Sickbay. He and Phlox are going to do the moving, dressed in EV suits to protect themselves from the virus.

This isn’t impossible, of course – the ship was designed so that any area of it could be designated as quarantined and sealed off from the rest. The distance between the two places isn’t so great as to present any difficulty, but given the virulence of the virus and its resistance to cure, it’s understandable that the captain doesn’t want to take the slightest chance of anything going wrong; he won’t risk the rest of his crew in the attempt to save two. So, of course, his Tactical Officer is here to supervise the operation, and the helmsman has a good working relationship with him and is there to help if required.

The quarantine could be supervised from the Bridge, and T’Pol the science officer is doing so. But it makes sense to have technical help here at the sharp end of things, just in case, and dispassionately the Senior Observer’s host confirms with her that quarantine has been successfully engaged, the seal is positive and environmental systems are isolated.

He looks on, his expression remote to indifference, as on the monitors in front of us Phlox and Archer retrieve the dying casualties and struggle with them into Sickbay. It’s already too late for one of them: even as the female’s body flops down onto the bioscan bed, her heart loses its battle to stay beating.

“Someone always dies,” he observes.

That, of course, should be the end of it. There’s nothing more for either man to do now but concentrate their efforts on the commander for the few moments he has left, and once that’s done they can dispose of the bodies and decontaminate Sickbay and it’ll all be over, and we can close our observation and leave and nobody will ever be the wiser.

As for whether I’ll ever volunteer to be an Observer again, well, probably not. I know we weren’t supposed to get involved with these creatures – these _people_ – but I can’t help it, they care about each other and even though they want to live, they’re brave and they’re trying so hard to save their friends. As far as I’m concerned they’re sentient just like us, they just haven’t evolved for as long as we have, and apart from the physical side of things I don’t see what’s so different between us and them in that respect.

But the captain clearly hasn’t read the book of ‘what’s supposed to happen next’. Instead of taking his CMO’s verdict, he does something that even the Senior Observer doesn’t expect.

The EV suits’ gloves are clumsy. They’re not designed for intricate tasks like manipulating medical instruments. And when Phlox struggles with a device that offers hope of restarting the ensign’s stopped heart, the captain tears off his own glove, exposing himself to the virus that must be already multiplying exponentially in that warm environment.

He’s signed his own death warrant in the attempt to achieve the impossible.

“I don’t understand,” says the Senior Observer, his face blank with astonishment.

This is different. I can tell, this is _unbelievably_ different. A minute ago my heart felt like it was in my boots, now it’s surging with excitement and elation. “In eight hundred years, no-one’s ever done that before?”

He stares at the monitor as though trying to find some alternative explanation that would help him make sense of it. “No. Not once they know it’s hopeless!”

But it still _is_ hopeless. The device doesn’t work, and the ensign is dead. Despair’s printed on the captain’s face as he flings himself into trying to save the officer he still has left.

The momentary delight’s changed everything. I can’t, I _won’t_ let this go on without a fight. “How many have to die before you'll admit humans are different?” I demand. “We need to stop this!”

He’s shaken, I can tell, but he’s done this for eight hundred years and he’s not taking orders from a junior on his first assignment. “I will _not_ depart from protocol. The incident isn't over. When the first death occurs on the ship, there's a sixty-eight percent chance the rest of the crew will become infected.”

Rhetoric. Rules! Damned protocol, and these people are fighting for each other’s lives! “What more will _that_ teach us about them?”

“All this would have happened whether we were here or not. We are not responsible.” He glares at the monitor as though blaming the captain for making everything so needlessly _difficult._

That’s not a reason. It’s not even an excuse. I don’t even try to keep the disgust out of my voice. “Maybe we should be.”

=/\=

The commander dies, of course. The captain’s devastated by his death, we can see that. But now he himself is the next casualty, and he’s sent Phlox out of the now contaminated Sickbay, in the desperate, vain hope that somehow a cure will be found before the few hours he has left are gone.

It won’t. All we have to do now is wait until he dies. The Vulcan will be in charge then, and since her people are apparently deeply logical, the logical thing will be to get rid of the bodies, disinfect the ship and reorganise the crew, and get them all away before anything else can happen.

In short, we have to play along with the protocol, we have to observe and record, and we have to let the most interesting, unpredictable species we’ve ever encountered limp away bleeding, bewildered and bereaved, never even suspecting they were nothing more than just one more experiment in the Organian laboratory.

The captain deserves more than that. At least he deserves the truth, even if he’s going to die. I want to face him and tell him what happened to his ship and his people.

It’s not going to be easy, or pleasant. He obviously cares about his people very deeply. But if I’m going to live with myself after this, I have to do it.

The only hosts available in there are the bodies of the dead. I’ve never transported into a dead person, but at least it’ll be quiet.

It’s quiet all right. There’s no heartbeat, no thoughts, only the dead weight of an unbreathing body. The commander’s.

The captain is right beside me. He steps back, startled and dismayed, as I force Tucker’s eyes open.

“I have such respect for you, Captain Archer.”

The readout above me has indicated Tucker’s death. Now it registers the shadow of my life-force, nothing like the indicators that a human body would produce.

“Trip?” The hope in the word is heartbreaking.

“Not exactly. I'm an Organian. A nonphysical life-form.” A dead body takes much more effort to manipulate. There’s no co-operation from the host. But somehow I manage to force Tucker to sit upright.

“Trip is my host,” I explain.

His eyes roam over me, searching for explanations, for hope. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” I say sadly. It’s even harder than I’d expected, facing him like this, seeing the dawning realisation that none of this is accidental. “We never interfere in the natural development of other species. We only observe.”

“Did you know about the silicon virus?” he demands.

Back before the start of all this, it seemed so straightforward, so easy. It would be on a par with watching single-celled organisms compete for survival in a primordial soup. Now it’s nowhere near that simple, and the incredulous accusation in the captain’s face tells me just how unpardonable he thinks we are if his suspicions are correct. 

“That's why we come here,” I say, low-voiced. “To see how different species react when they encounter it.”

The truth hangs in the contaminated air between us like something so disgusting he doesn’t even know how to imagine it. “You knew about the virus that killed two members of my crew, and you didn't warn us?”

His expression makes me want to shrivel up with shame. All along I’ve been fighting against the realisation that this is _wrong_ , but I can’t fight it anymore; Archer’s stare drives it into me in a form there’s no possible denying. It’s like the doctor’s, but a hundred times worse. This is _his crew_ we’ve experimented on and killed. He’s not like the Klingon captain in the report, shrugging and moving on regardless. He _cares._

“I wanted to, but it's not up to me,” I mumble.

On the bed across the other side of the room, the sheeted figure of the dead ensign suddenly stirs.

She sits up, pulling down the sheet and glaring at both of us. At me in particular – the captain probably doesn’t matter enough to glare at. “You're breaking every rule we have!”

I don’t care. I’m not going to stand for this stupid reasoning anymore. “Because they don't apply to this species!”

“That is not our decision to make!”

“If we don't challenge the rules–”

But the captain interrupts us. “I don't care about your rules! Tell me what happens to Trip and Hoshi when you're finished with their bodies!”

The Senior Observer looks at him flatly. “We have to leave them as they are.”

He looks at her incredulously. “ _Dead?_ ”

She doesn’t bother to answer. Her face is answer enough, and his face twists as he struggles desperately to understand where she’s coming from, to find some common ground of experience on which he can stand to argue with her.

“I understand why you won't get involved with a species' natural development,” he says at last. “I've faced that decision myself. It isn't an easy one to make.”

“Then we agree.”

“No, we don't. Our encounter with the virus was an accident. One that you could have prevented.” _If you’d cared enough_ , his tone implies.

“Then how would we ever learn about you?” she asks, as if it’s a really, really stupid question.

“Ask us. _Talk_ to us. Just like you're doing now!”

Her expression shows her irritation with how limited his comprehension is of the issues involved. “Talking is a limited form of communication for us. We're much more advanced than humans.”

Instead of being crushed into acceptance, he reacts like all she’s done is illustrate how disgusting we are in his eyes. “Not from where I'm standing. Maybe you've evolved into beings with abilities I can't comprehend, but you've paid a hell of a price. You've lost compassion and empathy. Things that give life meaning.

“And if that's what it takes to be advanced, I don't want any part of it.”

I don’t know if it stings her, but it does me. Apparently not, though, because she just gives a little shrug to say she doesn’t care one way or the other what he thinks. “We're leaving now, Captain. You won't remember a thing about our presence. And in three hours, you'll die as well.”

Right up till that moment, I think I can do this. Then, as I see the captain realise that we’ve killed his crew and we’re going to walk away like it really doesn’t matter one little bit, and there’s nothing he can do to stop us, reality hits me.

“No. We have the power to save them all.”

The Senior Observer’s host turns and stares at me as if he thinks her hearing has suddenly become defective. “Are you _defying_ me?”

Well, yes actually, I am. And there’s a terrifying freedom in it. “I'm defying the entire protocol. What Archer has done today, his act of compassion, you've never witnessed that before.”

She blinks, clearly trying to think of some way around the situation. Because although I’m only the junior observer here, we have the same power to influence events. If I really have decided to act against orders, I’m effectively unstoppable.

“In time, we'll study other humans,” she points out. If I’ve become so inexplicably interested in the species, it’s not as if it’ll be the last chance we have to study them. We’re not going anywhere in the next few millennia or so, after all.

Scenting hope in our dissension, the captain seizes his opportunity. “There's another way,” he says, stepping forward and speaking passionately. “Experience compassion for yourself. You want to know what it means to be human, you need to do more than observe!”

=/\=

We’ve quitted Sickbay, after restoring the dead officers and wiping the captain’s memory of our presence. The last thing we need to do to cover our tracks is to restore our hosts to their duty posts on the Bridge, and then we can leave.

The Senior Observer is extremely disgruntled. “You realise the consequences of what we've done,” he complains as the turbo-lift door closes. “We will never be able to observe another species encounter this virus!”

He’s already gone into the gory details of the scandal all this is going to cause. The disruption to the scientific community. The chaos of having to write a _new_ protocol, when the old one had worked _perfectly_ well for _thousands_ of years.

The sheer _embarrassment_. 

“Good,” I say contentedly. “I'm looking forward to making my first report. After ten thousand years, the rules need to change.”

I don’t think that was exactly what he wanted to hear. As the lift disgorges us into the corridor, he’s still radiating righteous indignation.

I don’t know what the Human word ‘pissy’ means, but Travis would have used it right now. I hide a smile as I follow him into the corridor.

“These humans have not been a good influence on you,” he continues sniffily, stalking in the direction of the Bridge as if he can’t wait to get there and get shot of these aliens who’ve ended up causing such an unbelievable amount of trouble. “I would not encourage further encounters.”

“I don't think we can avoid them. I'm going to recommend that we start preparations for an official First Contact mission.”

He definitely gives me the eyebrow at that idea. “InDEED. At the rate they're progressing, that'd barely give us five thousand years to prepare.”

I can’t help it. I’m laughing in sheer relief. “Then we'd better get started.”

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, please review it...


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